Maigret and the Loner Read online

  With only the occasional pause for thought or to relight his pipe, he reread, word for word, the questions he had asked Mahossier that morning and his answers. Each sentence was important in its own way. As set down in black and white, Mahossier’s words appeared much more confused than when they had been spoken out loud.

  When he had finished, Maigret sat motionless, eyes half closed. Anyone would have thought he was dozing, but his mind was more active than ever. He was trying to remember the smallest details of his investigation, stringing together the disparate parts.

  He was in no hurry to bring things to a conclusion. All at once, he decided to call Ascan, the chief inspector from the first arrondissement.

  ‘Sorry, Maigret, my men haven’t found anything new.’

  ‘That’s not why I’m calling. If possible, I’d like them to get their hands back on the two tramps I questioned in your station, the man and the woman. If they do find them, would you be so kind as to send them both to me?’

  ‘You may end up with fleas.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time. It’s one of the risks of the job.’

  ‘In this neighbourhood, we get more than our fair share. When would you like them?’

  ‘About four, if possible.’

  ‘We’ll try. I have just the men we need for that.’

  Maigret asked the switchboard operator to put him through to Maître Loiseau in Boulevard Beaumarchais.

  She soon called back to say that he wasn’t in his office and must be in the Palais de Justice.

  ‘Try to get hold of him there.’

  This time, it took nearly a quarter of an hour. They had had to look for him everywhere.

  ‘Maître Loiseau speaking.’

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Maigret here. Allow me to explain what this is about, maître. In connection with a recent murder investigation, I have in custody here a client of yours, Louis Mahossier. I tried to ask him a few questions this morning but got virtually nowhere. He’ll only talk if you’re there, and I see no objection to that. Could you be in my office at about four?’

  ‘Impossible. I have to be in court at three. But if you can make it five …’

  ‘Five o’clock. That’s fine.’

  Maigret had only just hung up when Torrence brought him a fairly slender file, the one on the Nina Lassave case from 1946. He took off his jacket, lit another pipe and sat down to look through the papers.

  First up was a statement by the concierge, made in the local police station. Not having seen her tenant come down by two in the afternoon, even though she had got back early the previous evening, she had gone up and knocked at her door.

  The door was slightly ajar, and the concierge walked into the apartment.

  It wasn’t untidy. The drawers hadn’t been looked through. In the bedroom, where everything was tidy, too, the poor young woman was lying on the bed, completely naked, with her tongue sticking out. Her empty eyes were turned up to the ceiling.

  Next came the statement of the local chief inspector, a man named Maillefer, who had visited the scene of the crime with Officer Patou. He had found the victim in the state described by the concierge. Her clothes, including a print dress, were on a chair not far from the bed.

  Robbery did not appear to have been the motive. In addition, given her nakedness, the victim must have known her killer well, since she had made no move to cover herself and had let him get close to her.

  Maillefer had called the Police Judiciaire from the bedroom. Detective Chief Inspector Piedbœuf had told him he would be there immediately, had advised him not to touch anything and had asked him to call the prosecutor’s office.

  If Maigret’s memories were correct, Piedbœuf must have been just under fifty-five at the time. He was a man who knew his job and wasn’t easily taken in. In fact, he was quite hard and lost patience easily.

  He had been accompanied by two inspectors, one of whom now worked for Special Branch.

  Piedbœuf’s report was quite long and had a plan of the apartment attached to it.

  None of the furniture seems to be out of place in the various rooms, and I found three hundred francs in the victim’s handbag, clearly visible on the night table.

  He gave an account of the visit by the prosecutor’s office, which is never anything but a formality.

  Two reports were attached to Piedboeuf’s, as well as a number of photographs of Nina in the state in which she had been found. The first report was by Moers. In it, he stated that his men had looked for fingerprints and had found none except for the victim’s and, on the door handles, those of the concierge.

  Maigret was taking notes.

  The next report bore the signature of a man he had long worked with and who was now unfortunately dead, Dr Paul, pathologist and knowledgable gourmet.

  In more scientific terms, he concluded that it had been death by strangulation. The young woman’s neck bore marks left by the killer’s fingers. The killer had had particularly strong hands.

  The tenants of the building had been questioned. There weren’t many of them. Nobody had heard anything. Nobody had passed anyone suspicious on the stairs.

  ‘Did Nina Lassave have lots of visitors?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But did she see someone quite frequently?’

  ‘Two men came to see her.’

  ‘Together?’

  ‘No, separately. The tall man would come mostly in the middle of the afternoon. The other one would come in the evening, and they would go out together. I don’t know where they went but I spotted them one day, or rather, one evening, on the terrace of Cyrano’s.’

  ‘Which one had she been seeing for longer?’

  ‘The one in the evening. The other one maybe only for two months.’

  ‘Did you see either of them on the stairs on the day of the murder?’

  ‘To tell the truth, I didn’t leave my apartment until six in the evening.’

  The other tenants knew even less. One of them, a middle-aged bachelor who worked in a bank in the Grands Boulevards, left home at eight in the morning and didn’t get back until nine at night.

  I didn’t even know the woman existed, let alone that she sometimes had lovers coming to see her at home.

  It was thanks to the concierge that they had tracked down Mahossier. One afternoon, she had seen him arrive in a van bearing in yellow lettering the words ‘Lesage and Gélot, painters and decorators, Boulevard des Batignolles’.

  More reports. The slightest question asked of a witness was the object of a report full of stereotyped phrases. How could Maigret fail to smile, rereading a report from that period.

  On the orders of Detective Chief Inspector Piedbœuf, I proceeded to the premises of the Lesage and Gélot painting and decorating business at 25, Boulevard des Batignolles. I was able to speak to Monsieur Gélot, Monsieur Lesage being absent. I asked him how many workers he had and he replied that it was the off season and he only had four.

  He supplied me with their names. I asked him their ages. Three of the four were over forty. One of them was even sixty.

  Only a certain Louis Mahossier was younger, twenty-six in fact. I had to wait nearly thirty minutes, because he had gone to deliver material to a site. He was driving the van described by the concierge of the building in Boulevard Rochechouart.

  Mahossier was not at all pleased. He asked me what right I had to question him and began by claiming that he did not know Nina Lassave. I asked him to come with me to Boulevard Rochechouart and there the concierge recognized him immediately. He was the same man she had seen on the stairs two days earlier, at approximately the time when the young woman had been killed.

  As a result of which I asked him to come with me to Quai des Orfèvres where I handed him over to my superior, Detective Chief Inspector Piedbœuf.

  Maigret mopped his brow.

  There had been four interrogations of Mahossier, who had not varied in his statements. He claimed that that day, at about the time the murder ha
d been committed, he was in his van, carrying cans of paint to Rue de Courcelles.

  His colleagues who had received the paint confirmed what he said but were less specific about the time.

  Examining Magistrate Coméliau had asked to see him and had asked him a number of questions.

  Marcel Vivien had also been questioned, as had the owner and the waiter in the café in Boulevard de la Chapelle.

  Vivien was in a terrible state. The death of his girlfriend seemed to have drained him of all his energy. They had found nothing against him, and he had gone back to his little hotel in Place des Abbesses.

  Mahossier had been investigated more thoroughly but, in the end, due to the lack of any real evidence, they had decided to drop him from their inquiries.

  The file did not carry the words ‘Case Closed’, because the police never close an unsolved case, but it was as good as.

  ‘Torrence! In a quarter of an hour, I’d like you to fetch Mahossier from the cells.’

  That gave him enough time to go and have a beer at the Brasserie Dauphine. If Maître Loiseau was as tough to crack as his client, the interrogation was likely to be a difficult one.

  By the time he got back, Mahossier was already sitting on a chair in his office, and Torrence was ready with his shorthand notebook.

  ‘We have to wait for Maître Loiseau.’

  Mahossier gave no indication that he had heard. Maigret casually leafed through the file, reminding himself of certain details.

  Maître Loiseau arrived in his robe, through the door that joined the Police Judiciaire and the Palais de Justice.

  ‘I’m sorry, my case was delayed by a quarter of an hour.’

  ‘Please take a seat. I’m going to ask your client a number of questions. So far, he’s systematically denied everything. Do you know what he’s accused of?’

  ‘Accused? That’s going rather far. I didn’t know the legal examination had even started yet.’

  ‘Let’s say that we suspect him of the murder of a tramp named Marcel Vivien in a disused building in Impasse du Vieux-Four.’

  Maigret turned to Mahossier.

  ‘I’m first going to establish that you were in Les Halles that night.’

  ‘Do you have witnesses who can be trusted?’

  ‘Judge for yourself …’

  He sent Torrence to fetch the man known as Toto, who had been brought by an inspector from the first arrondissement along with fat Nana. Toto, not overawed in any way, like a man who is used to the police, looked at everyone in turn. When his gaze fell on Mahossier, his face lit up.

  ‘But I know that guy! How’s it going, my friend? I hope you’re not in any trouble.’

  Maigret asked:

  ‘Where and when did you meet him?’

  ‘In Les Halles, of course. That’s where I spend my nights.’

  ‘Could you tell us where you were exactly.’

  ‘Less than ten metres from Pharamond’s. I was watching a lorry being unloaded. A pal of mine was there. If you can call him that, he wasn’t really friends with anyone. Vivien, his name was. He was unloading vegetables, and I was waiting for another lorry to arrive so I could get hired.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘The door of Pharamond’s opened, and this fellow came out of the restaurant. He stopped for a while to watch the men unloading. I took advantage to go up to him and ask him for enough to buy myself a glass of red wine. Instead of giving me a one-franc coin, he gave me a five-franc one, which meant I could afford a whole bottle.’

  ‘Had you seen him in Les Halles before?’

  ‘No, never.’

  ‘And you’re there often?’

  ‘Every night for the last fifteen years.’

  ‘I’m quite happy for you to ask the witness a few questions, maître.’

  ‘What day did what you’ve just told us happen?’

  ‘As if I keep count of the days! All I know is, it was the night Vivien was bumped off.’

  ‘Are you sure of that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You weren’t drunk?’

  ‘By three in the morning, yes, but not at ten in the evening.’

  ‘And you’re sure you recognize him?’

  ‘He recognizes me too, I can see it in his eyes.’

  Maigret turned to Mahossier.

  ‘Is that true?’

  ‘I’ve never seen this human trash before.’

  ‘Human trash … Human trash …’

  Torrence pushed the man outside and brought in the fat woman with her swollen legs and fingers like blood sausages. She hadn’t yet drunk too much, but all the same was swaying a little.

  Once seated, she, too, looked around her and reached out her right hand towards Mahossier.

  ‘That’s him,’ she said in a husky voice that must have been her usual voice.

  ‘Who are you referring to?’

  ‘The man who came out about ten in the evening from the restaurant where the rich folk go to eat tripe.’

  ‘Do you know the name of this restaurant?’

  ‘Pharamond’s.’

  ‘Are you sure it was this man?’

  ‘Absolutely. I even saw Toto talking to him. He told me afterwards that the man had given him a hundred-sou coin. He even bought me a glass of wine.’

  ‘Do you recognize her, Mahossier?’

  ‘Not at all. I’ve never seen this woman, and she’s never seen me in Les Halles.’

  Maigret turned back to Nana.

  ‘Did you see him again after that?’

  ‘The same night, about three o’clock. I was sitting in a doorway at the corner of Rue de la Grande-Truanderie and Impasse du Vieux-Four. I heard footsteps, and a tall, thin guy walked right past me. He was easy to recognize, especially as there’s a streetlamp right on the corner.’

  ‘Do you know where he went?’

  ‘Into a house they’ve had marked down for demolition for ten years now and that’s going to collapse one of these days.’

  ‘Mahossier, do you recognize this woman?’

  ‘I’ve never seen her before.’

  Maître Loiseau sighed:

  ‘If all your witnesses are like this …’

  ‘You can take her back into the corridor, Torrence.’

  ‘Shall I bring in the third witness?’

  ‘In a moment … The first time I questioned you, you denied having dinner at Pharamond’s that evening. Do you still deny it?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Where did you have dinner, then? Not at home, you told me, because your mother-in-law was there, and you don’t get on well with her.’

  ‘In a snack bar in the Grands Boulevards.’

  ‘Would you recognize it?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘Did you have a drink?’

  ‘I never drink, except for a glass of wine with my meals.’

  ‘So you’ve never set foot in Pharamond’s?’

  Maigret signalled to Torrence, who admitted a man in his fifties dressed in black from head to toe.

  ‘Please take a seat, Monsieur Genlis.’

  ‘In my profession, I’m more often called Robert.’

  ‘Would you mind telling us what profession that is and where you practise it?’

  ‘I’m assistant head waiter at Pharamond’s.’

  ‘And as such, I assume you keep an eye on who comes in and out.’

  ‘Most of the time, I’m the one who shows them to a table.’

  ‘Is there anyone in this office you’ve seen before?’

  ‘Yes.’

  And he pointed to Mahossier, who this time turned slightly pale.

  ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘I’ve only seen him once, on Monday evening. He was on his own, which is quite rare among our customers. He ate quite quickly. I opened the door for him when he went out.’

  ‘Do you agree with that, Monsieur Mahossier?’

  ‘I’ve haven’t set foot in Pharamond’s in more than ten years. Thi
s man claims to have seen me just once, in a room full of people.’

  ‘How do you know it was full of people?’

  ‘I assume it was. Given the reputation of the place …’

  ‘The thing is,’ Monsieur Genlis remarked, ‘I’ve rarely seen a customer who was so tall or so thin.’

  ‘Any questions, Maître Loiseau?’

  ‘No. I’ll keep that for the official examination by a magistrate.’

  ‘Thank you for your help, Monsieur Genlis. I won’t keep you any longer.’

  ‘Do you have any other witnesses, inspector?’

  ‘We’ve finished with this case for today.’

  The lawyer stood up as if he were relieved.

  ‘We’re going on now to the second case.’

  ‘There’s a second case? Isn’t it enough to accuse my client of murdering a tramp he’s never seen?’

  But this time Mahossier had definitely turned pale. It brought out the bags under his eyes and the bitter crease of his tight lips.

  ‘All right, go ahead.’

  ‘Do you remember the 16th of August 1946, Mahossier?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I have no reason to remember it. I suppose I worked, like any other day. In those days I was trying to put money aside and I didn’t take holidays.’

  ‘You worked for Lesage and Gélot.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  He seemed surprised and worried.

  ‘You often drove a van with those two names on it.’

  ‘Quite often, yes.’

  ‘That day, you had some cans of paint to take to your workmates who were working in Rue de Courcelles.’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘I have here the statement you made to Chief Inspector Piedbœuf. I assume you admit you were questioned several times by him?’

  And Maigret showed him the file.

  ‘What are you trying to prove?’

  ‘Where were you living?’

  ‘I don’t remember. I was living in hotels and often moved around.’

  ‘Let me refresh your memory. You were living in the Hôtel Jonard in Place des Abbesses. Do you know who else was living there?’

  ‘I didn’t know anyone there.’

  ‘You just met him again, in Les Halles, after twenty years. I’m talking about Marcel Vivien, whose girlfriend was Nina Lassave.’